Poetry

Caper's Poets

The Old Boys — Peycho Kanev

I hate your old gray robes
I despise your white wigs
and most of all I scorn your
volumes of poetry full of nothing
nothing at all

dead words
dried laughter
meaningless sentences

old poets teaching creative writing
at the universities
mumbling unneeded statements

old poets with untouched white faces
and clean hands
never knowing what factory is or
slaughterhouse or rooming house or
skid row

I can’t read your poetry
it is dead to me

so

I will stick my hand in my chest
and take out my alive and throbbing heart
then I will plunge it into you

and lay peacefully
in the dirt.
amen.

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Filed under: Issue 3, Peycho Kanev,

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